Cupboard
by Musings of a Shaken Mind
Summary: The man yells, a horrifying sound that resounds in my ears long after it has finished, “MY DAD ISN'T GETTING BETTER!” Implied WxD. Angst. OneShot.


**(A/N So, I realise that this has probably been done several times before. But, hey... what the hell?**

**This is set during 2x04 The Angel of Death, from Djaq's perspective. And it's dedicated to the two Amys! Welcome to FanFiction! I knew you'd get here eventually!**

**Reviews are most appreciated...)**

"Will! Tell me you haven't done anything stupid..."

I want to smile as I see him. Strong-but-silent, dependable, wonderful Will. He wouldn't try to kill the Sheriff. That is rubbish-- Will is intelligent, but cautious, never rash. He thinks things through. Allan, if anyone, would be the one who would try to kill the Sheriff. Or Robin. But never Will...

"Stupid?"

There's a moment of doubt, which disappears as he turns his beautiful, handsome face towards me. But I must know, "To the Sheriff, Will."

"Haven't touched him."

His roundabout answer makes me doubt once more-- but only for a moment.

"It's not the pestilence, it's poison. And we have a cure! It's Little John's idea..."

"That... that's good"

"You're not happy... the sick are getting better!" Why wouldn't he be happy? The villagers, people dying, they're going to be alright!

He holds a door open and I enter, brushing against him as I pass. There's a jot of something, something beautiful, even in that moment. And then it ends.

I turn to face him, and it's not the Will that I know. There's a hard, feral light in his eyes. One that terrifies me-- and there are not many things that can claim that. Will-- lovely William Scarlett, carpenter, Outlaw, defender of all that is right and good, has been swallowed up by this monstrous, petrifying creature. I barely recognise him-- how could I possibly have confused this enemy for my good friend? For the man that I often confess, to myself, that I love?

The man pushes me into the room, which I now realise is a small, cramped storage space. He slams the door behind me, and the bolt is drawn across, "What are you doing!?"

The man yells, a horrifying sound that resounds in my ears long after it has finished, "MY DAD ISN'T GETTING BETTER!"

"Will!" I'm close to tears now. Hot, angry drops fall, wetting my cheeks, "Will, don't do this!"

I slump against the hard, stone wall, sliding to the ground, my arms wrapped protectively around my legs. As if that could possibly improve the situation in which I now find myself.

Claustrophobia begins to take over, quickening my breaths, which are irregular now. My chest tightens, and I struggle to breathe in the confined space. I'm suddenly thrown backwards into memories-- horrible, confusing memories that I'd rather stayed hidden.

_Locked in a cart with many other Saracen men, pushed and jostled, cramped and dirty. Claustrophobia taking over, numbing my senses, making me hysterical. Horrific. Even before that, the wild, bloodthirsty light in the unnamed Englishman's eyes, as he ran my brother through. The light that matched Will's perfectly. I had never wanted to see that expression again, never again wanted to be pinned beneath it, helpless and terrified..._

I wonder where Will is now. Has he succeeded, in killing the Sheriff? Would mercenaries, at any second, come charging through the castle, torching the place and burning Nottingham to the ground? I shiver. The thought is horrible-- what of all those people, all those innocents who will die because of Will's stupid mistakes?

But I, of all people, understand what he is going through. I have lost my own father, and my brother. I even lost myself... I will never again be beautiful, carefree Saffiya. She died in the Holy Land, almost two years ago. There's a jolt as I remember. Not almost-- exactly. Exactly two years ago. My sobs intensify-- I can do nothing to stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks, staining my face.

An unexpected click sounds above my head and I start as the door swings, finally open.

It's Will.

But he's different-- no longer feral and terrifying, his face is pained, full of remorse. I stand, shakily to my feet, gazing up into his eyes once more. They say things that his lips never could-- passion, sorrow, grief-- and something that I do not recognise. Something that burns deeply and brightly, but different from the rage he felt earlier.

I fall into his arms. It's a place I feel safe, and he holds me tight, arms wrapped protectively and firmly around my waist. Unspoken words pass between us, and an understanding is reached. Neither of us say a word for several long minutes before, almost regretfully, he loosens his hold.

"We have to go... the Sheriff. Needs the antidote."

He's still alive, then. My fingers, entwined with Will's, give his a comforting squeeze, and he returns the pressure.

We sprint off again, still hand in hand, back to the Sheriff's quarters.

We're going to save his life...

**(And... well, while you're all here, I may just shamefully advertise my challenge.**

_**I challenge you to take the characters of the Robin Hood series and put them into a scene from a play. Use lines, dialogue, actions or whatever. Probably not the best idea to copy it, word-for-word, though. Yeah? Copyright, and all that...**_

_**I'm not really that fussed about what ships you use, but if it's not Will/Djaq or Robin/Maz then I'm expecting something spectacularly good; something that wins me over. Because I'm a canon-shipper at heart. **_

**BeckyScarlett x )**


End file.
